Wrong
by Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet
Summary: Something was wrong and they both knew it, but for the life of them they couldn't figure out why. FicmasinJuly entry


It felt wrong.

She didn't know why, but it just…did. She couldn't even say what exactly felt so off. The unpleasant sensation sat vaguely in the back of her mind flaring unexpectedly at everything or nothing at all. Especially when she said her husband's name...or when someone said hers.

"Let's go Monica!" Wendell said excitedly from the bottom of the stairs. She sighed and shoved the wrongness to the back of her mind yet again before taking one last look around the empty room. It had been a guest room…she thought. She didn't remember actually decorating it. Not that it had been decorated. Actually, there hadn't been much more in it than a few empty dressers, a desk and a bed, which struck her as strange. If it had been empty all those years, than why hadn't she put something in here? It would have been excellent storage.

She felt a sharp pang of sadness at the thought, and again was struck by the wrongness. The room seemed too…special to put storage in. Not that she had any idea as to why.

Shaking the thought from her head, she walked out of the room and headed into the hall. As soon as she stepped onto the creaking wood, the excitement hit again, doing its best to chase away the sadness and the wrongness. They were _finally_ living their dream! Australia! The opportunity couldn't have come at a better time, what with them being empty nesters and all.

She blinked at that thought. Empty nesters? They'd never had a child.

Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder at the room.

"Monica?"

Shaking her head again, she dismissed the idea that she'd missed something important. How could she have? It had to be her nerves and excitement playing games with her mind. So she ignored any feeling connected with the room and practically ran down the stairs to meet her husband. They were leaving their old life behind, and she couldn't wait!

But no matter how excited she was, it still felt wrong.

xXx

They bought a large house with the funding that Wendell's previously unknown uncle had seen fit to leave to them. In _Australia_. She still couldn't get over that, even if she didn't know why they'd felt they needed a big home. Their house in England had been small enough and had never given them any problems. Besides, it wasn't like they needed the room. It was just the two of them, after all. Still, they both agreed on the home the instant they saw it, so buy it they did.

All in all, the building had four bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, two bathrooms, a living room and one extra room with no closet for them to do with as they pleased. That one became a sort of in-home office. One of the bedrooms became a guest room, not that they had many guests. They hadn't left much behind in England when it came to relations and as such had no one to come and visit. It would also be a while before they made any connections in Australia, but Monica believed in being prepared.

The second bedroom became a storage/hobby room. Between the two of them, they didn't have whole lot of hobbies, but Wendell could store the tools he bought there (he always had liked the idea of being able to fix their house on his own, although he usually made whatever problems came up worse) and she enjoyed quilting. As she set up her brand new sewing machine, it almost startled her when she began to come up with several ideas for Christmas, and no one to send them to. She'd been planning on those kinds of projects for a while too…

The third room was set up as almost an exact replica of the empty one in London.

She'd just finished with it when her husband came in. He looked around with a troubled look, and she began to prepare to explain. He never said anything, though, choosing instead to simply survey the room before he turned and walked out, still troubled.

"Wendell?" she asked. "What is it?"

He paused in the hallway and looked back in. "I was going to ask what you're doing. We could use this room for your sewing and I could have the other one to myself for my projects…but this feels right."

She didn't know what to say, so she watched him walk away as he shook his head. They didn't discuss it much after that, but they'd come to the silent agreement that it would stay that way for now.

xXx

The feeling that she'd missed something soon became a constant companion, but for the life of her she could not figure out what they'd forgotten. She'd even brought up the problem to Wendell, and he had confided that he felt the same as she did. Unfortunately, even between the two of them, they couldn't seem to remember whatever it was.

"Perhaps we sold something we shouldn't have?" she suggested, allowing her right hand, the one that held the cleaining rag, to fall into her lap. They were grasping at straws, and they both knew it. They'd been rather careful when they'd sold what belongings they couldn't take with them on their international journey.

It struck her as endearing that Wendell actually paused in his work to mull over the suggestion.

"Something to do with the business, perhaps?" she continued, looking around the office they'd been able to aquire to start their new dentist business. It had taken them much longer to find and prepare the small building than it had been to obtain their lisances, but it had all still fallen into place much faster than they'd originally thought it would. If she hadn't known any better, she would have sworn that some unseen force had helped them along, or that it had at least started them out with that generous inheritance. The 'distant, rich relative leaving them money' still felt...surreal. Almost false. Probably because neither one of them had ever met the man. She insisted on believing this ease was an omen that moving had been the right thing to do. Still, it had all happened so fast that they could have quite easily left something behind.

Finally, Wendall shook his head. "No," he replied slowly, eyes fixed on the screen of the computer he'd been working with all morning. "I keep thinking that it's something much more personal."

Monica sighed and turned her attention back to the glass of the door to their office and started wiping again. "Yes," she responded quietly. "Me too."

Not knowing what else to do, they both shook their heads and went back to their work. After all, they had an office to open on Monday.

She just hoped their advertising would pay off. They couldn't live off of Wendell's inheritence forever.

xXx

"Ooo ooo ee eeve iah aaa ih?"

Monica withheld a frustrated sigh and took her instruments out of the girl's mouth. "What?" she asked as politely as she could. It seemed children would be children no matter what country they moved to.

"Do you believe in magic?"

Ignoring the randomness of the question, Monica smiled. "Yes," she said before her head caught up with her mouth.

"Really?"

Monica blinked and looked around the dentist office, as if that would explain her sudden, rather unexpected answer. Of course, she found no reason, but the response she'd given had confused her. Even considering the concept of magic to be true was utterly ridiculous, wasn't it?

She was about to laugh out loud and come up with some cheesy answer for the child when the feeling of 'wrong' came back again with a vengeance.

"Yes…" she replied hesitantly, once again surprised at her inability to deny the child's words. "I do."

"You're the first grown up I've met that does! That is so awesome!" The girl said excitedly. "Not even my mom does!"

"Don't tell anyone," Monica said with a smile and a wink that belied her inner unease before she went to start working again. The girl obviously liked her sweets as she had at least two cavities that Monica could see. Undoubtedly the X-rays would bring back more.

"I wish you could magically fix my teeth," the girl pouted. Monica wanted to roll her eyes. She knew stalling tactics when she saw them.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't Herm…" and that quickly the name she'd just been about to say flew out of her head.

She paused; face paling for no apparent reason.

"Mrs. Wilkins?" the child asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Doctor Wilkins, dear," she said as she gulped down the sudden fear and worry. Then she flashed another brilliant smile. "And yes, I'm fine thank you. Someone just walked over my grave."

"Your what?"

Holding back another sigh, she nodded towards the waiting room and winked. "Ask your mother."

xXx

Christmas came and went without event.

Except for the three extra presents under the tree. One from her, one from Wendell and a third from both of them.

None of the gifts were addressed to anyone.

xXx

April was just around the corner, bringing in relatively cooler winds with it. Monica loved it. Normally April brought warmer weather. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the change. On some level she hoped she wouldn't.

As refreshing as it was, the thought brought a question to her mind that she'd been avoiding as of late. Why? Moving to Australia had been a bit of a gamble, and they had never been the type of people to really take risks, even if it had worked out rather well. So why had they always wanted to come? Why uproot their whole lives in England on a whim, even if they had suddenly come into money. True it had always been their life long ambition, but it had always seemed like a fanciful dream. She'd never really believed it would come true, and they'd never had a reason to even try before.

The question had plagued her on and off for months, but recently the sense of unease regarding the subject in general had gotten stronger.

"Wendell," she said one night as they prepared for bed. "Why did we move here?"

The sound of him brushing his teeth in their wash room stopped suddenly. Then a spitting sound and he popped his head out, looking worried. "Do you not like it here?" he asked. "We could move back-"

Almost as if he'd been struck, he suddenly stopped, brow furrowing in confusion. "No, we can't go back" he said suddenly. "That would be a bad idea."

Monica raised an eyebrow at his strange behavior, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, she reassured him. "No, I love it here. It just doesn't seem like something we'd do. I mean, we were happy in England."

"It was lonely in England," Wendell muttered, disappearing back into the bathroom to put his toothbrush away.

His answer surprised Monica. Thinking back, she did have a great deal of unexplained sadness directed towards her homeland. Had it really been that lonely for her as well? With their small, but cozy and empty house...

"Wendell," she said, voice much softer, "Why didn't we ever have any children? We wanted some, didn't we?"

He came back out of the lou and shut the door behind him before he turned to his wife with that same troubled expression on his face that she'd seen so often before. "Yes, we did," he replied. "We wanted at least one child."

"Why then…?" she asked.

The familiar feeling of thoughts flying out of her head came back. This time, though, she fought it. She fought it with all of her might. Gritting her teeth, she clutched at her head and fell to her knees.

"Monica?" Wendell asked as he rushed to her side.

"It's wrong," she said. "It's all wrong…"

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "Should I call a doctor?"

In the next moment she looked up and blinked. "I'm fine."

"You said it was wrong," he said unsurely.

She shook her head. "What's all wrong? I feel fine."

He didn't look completely convinced, but he stood up and walked over to the bed. "Nothing," he said softly as he picked up the edge of the blanket and slid underneath it. "Nothing's wrong."

Monica wondered why the way he said 'nothing' sounded more like he had said 'everything'.

xXx

Monica knew her the moment she saw her. The problem was, she didn't know her.

"May I help you?" she asked politely, although inside she desperately wanted to spring forward and hug the girl who had suddenly shown up at her door that late June morning. Despite the feeling, Monica knew the girl was a stranger; a teenager, just coming into womanhood. She'd never seen her before, she was sure of it. The girl had bushy hair that fell just past her shoulders and wore a light sweater over a pair of jeans. All in all, she looked completely average.

But she wasn't. Every fiber of Monica's being knew that too, but she couldn't seem to act on it.

Then, the girl brought out a stick of some sort and pointed it directly at her. Surprised, Monica stepped back.

"What—" she started, but the girl cut her off.

"_Reciproco_," she said, and Monica's memories came back.

No…she wasn't Monica. She wasn't even a Wilkins. Granger. That was her last name and her daughter…

She gasped and looked down at Hermione.

Her _daughter_.

"Hermione!" she breathed and rushed forward, enveloping her child in her arms. Hermione burst into tears and clutched at her shirt. "Hermione, what happened? Where have you been…why did…why are…what?"

"I…think I have some explaining to do," the girl said softly. "Is dad here?"

"He's upstairs trying to fix some plumbing."

Hermione blinked. "So you were about to call the plumber?" she asked. Her mother nodded and both women broke into laughter, even as water continued to gather in both of their eyes. It didn't take them long to calm down.

"What happened, Hermione," she found herself asking quietly. "Why...why did you do that to us?" Almost as soon as her memories had returned she'd been able to put two and two together. They'd had their memories altered magically. Their names, their life, the move to Australia, even (she suspected) that rich uncle and his supposed inheritance had all been fabrications to send them away.

Why?

"To protect you," Hermione replied, voice equally soft. "Voldemort...his followers would have tried to kill you to get to me and I couldn't be there to protect you because I had to help Harry and...I'm so sorry."

With that, she broke down into tears again. Before the older woman knew what she was doing, she'd already gathered her daughter into her arms, rocking her back and forth as if she were an infant instead of a woman. Tears of pain and sadness and joy all poured out of her own eyes, draining away all of the wrongness she'd been feeling for almost an entire year. After several minutes, they both managed to stop their tears to an extent.

"Let's go get your father." Father. Oh how that word sounded both so alien and wonderful at the same time.

They found the subject of their search under the sink in the upstairs bathroom, cursing. He must have seen her come in because he slid out from under the sink, only shooting a glare in the general direction of the piping he'd undoubtedly mixed up.

"Monica?" he asked. "Is everything alright? Who was at the door."

"Hermione..." she started with the first real smile she'd felt all year, only to have it disappear as she turned around to find empty space. "Hermione?" Her heart suddenly leapt to her throat, where it formed a lumps she couldn't swallow past. Her daughter had disappeared again! Had it all been some horrible dream? Some sort of-

"In here," Hermione's voice came from the third room...the room that had been set up to look exactly like hers had in England. After all, that had been her room.

No wonder it had felt so wrong.

Ignoring her husband for the moment, the older woman raced back down the hall and into her daughter's room only to let out a sigh of relief when she saw Hermione standing in the center of it, fresh tears pouring down her face.

"Hermione?"

"Who?" her husband asked, having followed her.

"_Reciproco_," Hermione managed to say.

For several seconds father and daughter stared at each other before he rushed forward in much the same manner as his wife had only minutes before.

"Hermione...oh, my Hermione. My princess..."

The girl grinned through sobs at her mother over her father's shoulder. "I guess even magic can't make you really forget some things," she whispered, glancing at the room again.

"No," Mrs. Granger said under her breath as she followed, sounding relieved and sad at the same time. "It can't."

Then she too stepped into the room to join her family.

* * *

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